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blooberrries · 4 months

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「 extemporaneous 」 — 07 ☾

— pairing: multi; shoto x reader, izuku x reader (so FAR...) — genre: hybrid au, slow burn-ish, reverse harem — wc: 3.4k — rated: nsfw; heavy petting (?) — notes: it has the barest sprinkle of spice. soon we will arrive upon the porn with plot...... soon....... save me

You've never really had much to do with hybrids, existing in your own little bubble for a majority of your life. That comes to an end when your friend phones you for help and somehow you end up taking two hybrids off of her hands while they recuperate in the wake of an unfortunate incident. But when the time comes that they have to leave, will you really want them to go?

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Recently, the boys have taken to accompanying you on your morning exercises.

The weather is getting cooler, and with it the days shorter, so you’re not particularly opposed. Well, you wouldn’t be anyway because you enjoy spending time with them and there is also no way in hell that you would miss the opportunity to see them work out.

(For scientific reasons, of course. Hybrids are built a little different, after all. You’re definitely not a pervert and any source saying otherwise constitutes defamation.)

You’re on your back, having sprawled on the cool grass around ten minutes ago in an attempt to catch your breath after a run. You might have bitten off more than you could chew by telling them they could set the pace, but you’d sooner stub your own toe than admit the difference in your fitness levels. Thankfully you’ve regained control of your lungs and are no longer heaving, and they appear none the wiser to your momentary health crisis. You are pleased to maintain even scraps of your dignity at this point.

“I like this park.” A voice muses from your left. You allow your head to roll slightly, eyes falling upon the stretched form of the canine hybrid beside you. A breeze rustles the snowy hair that brushes his right cheekbone. “Quiet. Peaceful. Also, quite pretty.”

You hum in agreement; you’re in a meadow-like area that you can reach by following the footpath for a kilometre or so. Trees loom tall on the outskirts, creating verdant walls of green that curl the small sanctuary into their embrace as warmth from the sun pools in the centre and glimmers off the dewy grass. Instead of speaking, you allow a moment for the reply from Izuku that you can feel coming. It enters the air like clockwork barely a second later.

“Isn’t it, Sho?” Izuku tilts his head back, the sun filtering through foliage to paint his skin in swathes of gold. “Plus, it’s nice seeing so many other hybrids come through here every so often.”

Shoto lets out a noise in agreement. In an odd moment of serendipity, a family of hybrids accompanied by a single human emerge from where the path disappears into the treeline in the distance. The child swinging between the two adult hybrids couldn’t be any more than five years old, and the second they lay eyes on the great expanse of grass woven with patches of clovers and wildflowers before them, a delighted peal of laughter rings in the air.

Before you can think twice, your eyes are moving to scan the expressions of your companions in curiosity. From what you recall, an intact family unit isn’t very common for hybrids, though Nejire told you once that it is becoming increasingly the norm. Hybrids from the initial generations, those born in a sterile lab, are now creating families and small communities of their own as the movement for their rights strengthens and gains more traction over time. It makes you happy to see it in action, though a part of you worries that the sight might bring up memories for your companions that aren’t particularly pleasant.

Then again, you have no idea about their backgrounds, really.

Thankfully, the shift in their expressions isn’t sad or melancholy. Rather they appear contemplative, bordering on nostalgic. Curiosity lingers in an unspoken question on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t dare to voice it.

It’s Shoto that volunteers to fill the silence first.

“I wonder if that kid gets lonely,” he muses. “It doesn’t look like they have any siblings.”

You blink, something about the way he says that sparking a new curiosity. “… You had siblings?”

He shrugs, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips. He glances at you and then Izuku from the corner of his eye. “Well, maybe not in the typical sense. We were often created in batches, so we definitely weren’t alone.”

“You have company, but in all you don’t get to spend much time with the other hybrids. The adoption process can start young sometimes,” Izuku supplies, shaking his head to dislodge a leaf clinging to his forest-hued curls. “Shoto and I actually ‘grew up’ together, in a way.”

The confusion must be evident on your face, because the rabbit hybrid laughs and reaches out to pinch your cheek. You frown but can’t be bothered to lift your arm and bat him away, and so he remains the unspoken victor.

“I guess you could call it that.” Shoto snorts, reaching up with both arms to stretch. The movement lifts the edge of his shirt to reveal smooth honey-toned skin and you fight for your life to keep your eyes in a respectful location. “I think our labs ended up merging at some point and from then on we kind of got stuck together. Neither of us were ever officially adopted.”

That takes you by surprise, actually. Ignoring how visually stunning they are, both hybrids are pleasant and sweet, sincere in everything they do, and a pleasure to be around. You can safely say the addition of them into your life and routine has been a blessing. So when you take in his words, your brain can’t quite comprehend the idea of someone not wanting them.

A part of your feels bad for them – you know it isn’t the case for all hybrids, but for some of them the act of ‘adoption’ means a lot – but at the same time, you’re unsure whether you would have ever ended up meeting them if they had been adopted earlier in their lives.

It feels selfish, but… deep down, you’re a little glad that you were able to know them as a result of it.

Shoto lowers his arms and twists to face you a little more, eyes surveying your supine form. You have a feeling that he is looking for the best place to curl up and your suspicions are confirmed when he zeroes in on your abdomen and turns back around so he can recline with his head resting on the soft swell of your stomach. You don’t even bother trying not to blush. You’ll just blame the heat of the sun if you need to. Or even the exercise. Plenty of excuses.

“It’s good to see so many kids around,” Izuku hums, blowing some hair out of his face and allowing his eyes to flutter closed after. It’s a slight redirection of the current topic, but you don’t particularly mind. “There’s more than I thought there would be, considering the current ratio.”

This piques your interest further, tickling something familiar in the back of your mind you’d heard once upon a time. “The current ratio…?”

“Of male to female hybrids,” Shoto supplies helpfully in his soft, leisurely tone, turning his head and nuzzling into your abdomen just below your ribs. You have to physically hold down the responding shudder that wants to roll over your body. “It’s pretty disproportionate, currently. Something like one female hybrid for every two –- or is it three? -– male hybrids.” “Oh shit,” you mutter, the words leaving you before you can think to censor yourself. “Tough odds.”

Shoto snorts, and Izuku looks to be fighting a grin. Surprisingly, it is the hybrid currently taking up real estate on your stomach that continues.

“It might look like that,” Shoto hums, his head tilting just enough for his mismatched eyes to trail and lock onto your own. The slightest curl plays around the corner of his mouth. “But we’re pretty adaptive, you know. Most hybrids tend toward polyandry.”

Oh. Oh. Nejire never told you that.

Shoto’s eyes, clear and glimmering in the morning sunlight, track every minute movement and change in your face. His ears flick ever so slightly, no doubt catching the slight uptick in your heartbeat as well as the warmth gathering in your face.

You have to wet your lips in order for your question to greet the air. “Why, um-- is there a reason behind the ratio?”

Izuku hums a pleasant noise, like he’s been quizzed on something that he knows the answer to.

“Men – or in this case, male hybrids – are easier to clone and create than women. Something about having two X chromosomes makes it a little more complicated, if I remember correctly.” Izuku tilts his head, eyes glazing as he falls deeper into his thoughts. “That’s probably why we all ended up having the kind of instincts that we did. Being excessively territorial is detrimental to the population as a whole when one gender greatly outnumbers the other.”

“Plus, more chances for females to conceive when there are multiple--”

“RIGHT, yeah, there’s also that.” Izuku lets out a loud, embarrassed laugh, cutting the canine hybrid off before he can continue. For his benefit, you continue to ignore the heat making itself known on your face and fight to swallow your own amused chortle. You did think it had been a little too long since the last time Shoto said something outrageous with the most unbothered face. The rabbit hybrid continues, almost like he can’t help himself.

“Even so, the bond that a, um… mated pair share is super important. Hybrids have a tendency to bond deeply in general, but I suppose it is doubly so for males. Definitely more matriarchal in nature, hybrid communities.”

Bonds? Mated pairs? You feel kind of faint as your brain works to reconcile all the information you’ve received in the last five minutes. “Huh… I see.”

Izuku suddenly looks oddly restless, almost… nervous .Evidently taking a page out of Shoto’s book, he turns and dives to bury his face in your side, eliciting a ticklish yelp from you as he does so. He ends up pulling on a lock of Shoto’s hair that had fallen over your side by accident, and the hybrid lets loose an unimpressed, low rumble. Ignoring the noise, Izuku takes a few deep breaths against your side, digging his nose into your shirt.

Sincerely, you don’t think you’re going to be able to survive this. You consider sending a prayer heavenward.

As if things weren’t already embarrassing enough for you, your stomach chooses this exact moment to let out a forlorn rumble.

Shoto snorts softly, lifting off of you and rolling to a stand with such grace, you’re genuinely envious for a moment.

“Probably best we head back and get some food in our bellies.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

---------

This is a losing battle.

Granted, it’s not like you’re really fighting it at all anymore (arguably didn’t even really fight it to begin with), but still. It feels like everything is somehow snowballing, in a way that you’re not particularly against despite your better judgement.

Somehow, your two housemates have gotten clingier. They stick to you like shadows, scenting you in an almost possessive manner whenever they get the chance and more than a few times you’ve caught them sniffing you for a whiff of your own scent when they think you’re too occupied to notice.

It’s doing a number on your already frayed self-control.

The brief but very informative conversation the three of you had in the park almost a week ago has helped alleviate some of the guilt you carried for being attracted to both of them at the same time, and also planted some ideas in your head that you haven’t been able to pry out despite your best efforts.

Currently, your dilemma comes from the fact that not only are you attracted to them both, but you like them both.

It’s still budding, not at a catastrophic level as of yet, and technically speaking you would be able to be with them physically without spiralling when they eventually leave. Probably. Actually, you’re torn between not wanting to do anything to save yourself the pain in the long run, and doing something so that you can treasure and make the most of the time you currently have together.

You’d probably regret it if they ended up leaving without you addressing whatever this is between you. However, you also know yourself enough to know you’re too sappy to be able to part with them seamlessly if you did act on it.

This is torture. You almost wish they’d just make the decision for you.

Apart from those differences, the routine the three of you remains mostly unchanged. Unfortunately, that leaves plenty of opportunity for you to overthink and dwell as you complete your bedtime routine. You almost reach for a cheeky drink just so you might put an end to the thoughts and go to bed in peace. Somehow, you manage to imitate meditation enough that you eventually drift off without the need for a nightcap.

Something rouses you from sleep earlier than anticipated, though. The soft creak of your door has you blinking awake, eyes less bleary than anticipated.

It’s pitch black at first, but your eyes quickly adjust enough to see as two figures slink into the room and over to your bed. You feel the mattress dip with their weight as they climb atop, a soft rumble reaching your ears that you know to be coming from a certain canine hybrid.

“What is it?” you ask, wiping your eyes in an attempt to clear any remaining sleep. It’s harder to focus on their forms than you expect. “Is everything okay?”

“Yona.”

It’s a throaty whine that answers your question, timbre no doubt belonging to Izuku. The slimmer of the two slips closer, a hand coming to grasp the one you’d reached out without realising. Your heart stutters in your chest, breath catching in your throat. The smell of pine and jasmine twine together and brush your senses. Of course you’ve smelt whatever cologne your two hybrid roommates wear before, but never so strongly. It’s making butterflies come to life in the pit of your belly.

“What is it?” you ask again, sitting up a little more. Izuku brings your hand to his cheek, nuzzling into your palm. Your fingertips brush his fluffy curls and you find yourself winding them into the locks without a second thought.

While Izuku seems to be sitting back on his haunches for the moment, Shoto has no qualms about approaching further, his large hand brushing against the skin of your shoulder, revealed by sheets that fell when you rose earlier, before trailing down your arm and then back up. His palm settles against your neck, scorchingly hot, and the length of his fingers wrap around your nape. Your heart kicks up again, an excited, frantic patter.

Izuku’s lips press against your palm, searing affection into your flesh. You can hardly keep track of what is happening, attention torn from one to the other in rapid succession.

A soft whine escapes from Shoto this time, and he leans forward to nuzzle his face into your neck, dragging his nose along the line of your jaw. It tickles, and sends a shiver down the length of your spine.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he murmurs, mouth hot against your neck as his lips shape the words. You feel his ears flick and catch against your hair. You want to lift a hand and touch him, but for some reason your body refuses to obey. “Nothing wrong, just need you.”

You feel like your heart has stopped completely in your chest, a breathless moment passing before it returns to its chaotic gallop. You barely have the presence of mind to force out, “What…?”

The hybrid’s lips begin to press in a heated trail down your neck and across your collarbone, ignoring your murmur completely. His free arm slips around your side and behind you, pulling you close quick enough that a soft noise of surprise escapes you. Heat is beginning to set your veins alight, blood turning to magma. Your thighs clench as Shoto’s teeth scrape against your clavicle before he sucks the flesh into his mouth.

Oh my god.

Having moved you closer to the centre of the bed with his manoeuvre, there is now room for Izuku to sidle up against your other side, and he happily takes the opportunity. Your hand is dropped for only a moment before he picks it up again from his new angle, returning it to where it was. He then leans forward, burying his nose into your hair and letting out a contented groan – something he’d done earlier in the day when the three of you had been cuddling on the couch. It had made butterflies burst into your stomach then, but now it makes your body thrum in anticipation.

“You smell so good, Yona, you’re so lovely,” Izuku murmurs, the low cadence of his voice eliciting another shiver across your shoulders. “We want you, need you… don’t you want us too?”

The words leap from your throat, unbidden. “Of course I do.”

A pleased, throaty groan slips from Shoto as his mouth moves lower, towards the neckline of the singlet you’d worn to bed. You weren’t sure what to expect, but it still takes you by surprise when he drags his lips over the material, following the swell of your breast until he comes across your peak, straining against the material. He takes it into the wet heat of his mouth, and you can’t help but gasp at the sensations that reach you through the damp material of your shirt. Arousal shoots straight to your core.

Again, you will your hand to lift and tangle in his hair, but the limb remains by your side. You barely have time to feel the resulting confusion and frustration before Izuku’s free hand is trailing along your side, nails dragging along the skin of your hips and tracing the line of your waistband. The ache beginning to make itself known between your legs is suddenly all you can think about, and this time when you will your hips to shift, rocking up against his hand, they listen.

Izuku inhales softly, sounding pleased at your reaction. You feel like you’re going a little bit insane.

“Yeah? You want us? Want us to touch you, like this?”

Words catch in your throat and so you settle for an emphatic nod, eager for the touching to continue – especially if it meant Shoto was going to keep doing those things with his mouth. As though summoned by the thought, he clamps his teeth around your nipple in a light bite, sending shocks of pleasure over your skin. A moan tumbles from your throat, thighs squeezing in a sad attempt at friction.

You need more. You need more, but your stupid limbs won’t listen to you, and Izuku’s hand is going everywhere but where you need and want it most.

“Izuku,” you whine, the sound bordering on pathetic. You can hardly think amongst the drowsy haze of pleasure fogging your mind. “Please…”

Please touch me, you want to say. Your fingers twitch with the urge to grasp his hand and move it to your core, but they remain woefully unresponsive. Instead of your desired destination, his hand lifts to pinch and tug your neglected nipple softly. He seems to revel in the noises the actions elicit.

Shoto releases your abused nipple with a soft noise, leaning up to nip and lick under your ear. The sweet scent of jasmine threatens to swallow you whole.

“Tell us what you want, lovely,” he murmurs, voice thick and catching in his throat. His teeth scrape your neck and you tilt your head back, wrenching your eyes closed as Izuku times it with a firm pinch.

A rush of different desires overtake you at once, so many you can hardly choose only one to voice. You strain to lift your arm and cup his cheek, willing it desperately to move. “I-”

Your arm jerks, breaking free of its invisible bonds, and your eyes snap open. The room is quiet, save for your panting breaths, and you are entirely under the covers. A cursory glance around the room once your eyes adjust reveals you are, in fact, alone. Your bedroom door is closed, just as you’d left it before going to bed.

It takes a moment for you to be awake enough that realisation comes crashing through you. You just had a wet dream about your housemates.

…. You’re so fucked.

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marigoldenblooms · 6 months

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Unica Semper Avis - Chapter 1

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Angst, canon-level violence, use of medieval weapons, body horror description in transformation, magic use, slight dissociation/self harm, restraint, fluff (for five seconds), R is a simp, so is W, N is not here to play, etc.

A/N: I’ve been working on this next chapter ever since the previous. Chapter two is coming along quickly as well! I want to keep a bit of a backlog for my longer fics, so updates will be as frequent as I can manage. The name established in this chapter for R will be used sparingly, but I loved what Missmonsters2 did with Between the Lines when I read it months ago, and thought it’d be pertinent until nicknames/pet names are established (and for as long as I can avoid conversation where names are necessary).

R’s monster form brought to you by bearded vulture inspiration! Feel free to imagine your own version of avian horror to your heart’s content. Enjoy, y’all!

Word Count: 3.1k - Read Length: 11 minutes, 18 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners!

~~~ The healer’s home was nothing short of overwhelming.

Multi-colored knick-knacks were strewn on every surface, perched below gatherings of drying, braided flowers which hung from the rafters. Beneath your feet, woven rugs of alternating sizes dotted the cabin’s cool wooden floors, like islands between a chilled sea of timber. The front door lead further into a sitting room, offering glimpses into a small, quaint looking kitchen, adorned with a single well-worn table and chair. Within that same place, a large pot was held still on the counter by wisps of scarlet magic, another more opaque plume coaxing a wooden spoon to stir whatever was inside.

Paintings hung along every wall, although you could never get a full glance at one, as though they’d subtly shift and change muses whenever you’d look away. The sound of a shutting door would heighten your senses enough to break from the scenery, turning on your heels to face the home’s owner once again. She’d pry at you with a half-smile, and you’d solidify your gaze at the floor before her eyes could have the chance to meet yours.

“What brings you to my home?” She’d question evenly, her words a pleasing rasp- smooth molasses which could easily cloud your senses if you allowed her to. You’d see her form move to the side of you in your peripheral, yet you’d remain still, your stare continuing to bore a hole into her carpet.

Wordlessly, you’d tug at your shawled sleeve to show the back of your arm. Running along the skin’s expanse were thin ridges, pin feathers prickling beneath taut flesh. A light down speckled your skin in odd patches, consolidated mostly on your neck and shoulders for now. Your hair had begun to fleck and grow waxy and silkish, akin to dense ostrich feathers, tousled from your trek to her abode. You’d watch the ground as her shadow would shift around you, a curious tsk showcasing her intrigue.

You wouldn’t see her raised expression, eyebrows furrowed as she’d take your wrist without warning, raising it up so she could see the indentation better in the light. She’d drop your arm as soon as she’d grabbed it, falling limply to your side, and her smooth voice would threaten to carry you off again. “Fascinating..your affliction isn’t something I’ve seen recently.”

“Can you help?” You’d mumble, the few phrases coming to you sounding choked from lack of use, and you could hear the healer’s grunt at your lackluster response. You’d swallow thickly, trying to find the words to explain all that you were, but none arrived. She’d circle around you once more, and before you could flinch away, would capture your chin between her thumb and forefinger, wrenching it to make you look at her- green irises narrowing as you’d shut yours, unwilling to look her in the eye. You’d half expect her grip to be cold like the Matron’s, but her touch’s pleasant warmth was something you almost missed as she’d let go of you, the shuffle of her arms crossing heightened behind your closed eyelids.

“I can’t help a patient I can’t trust,” She’d muse with a teasing lilt, rolling her r’s in a way that made your chest flutter. Was this another symptom of your molt? It had been a long time since you’d been with another and the thought made your heart ache, albeit not more than your bones. “Why won’t you look at me?”

The scoff that came in response to her was almost too easy, opening your eyes after directing your head to the floor again, “Because I am no threat to you.” “And why would I assume that?” She’d retort immediately, and you’d glare into the ground. Why was talking so easy for her? Why couldn’t she understand that you weren’t like her? You’d raise your arm aloft again, the skin burning now as you’d twist the plumage under your flesh for her view. The rage that had been festering in you for days unlocked a torrent of your words, finally finding purchase in your mouth- frustration evident in how each phrase was ripped from your throat. Your larynx would be useless beyond a breathing tool soon, so you better use it now. Your nails clawed at your arms, doubling into yourself, “Because you are human and I am not, healer- is that not something you’re able to understand-?!”

“Relax for me-” she’d grit, and you’d feel your stomach plummet at her words. Something in them begged obedience, and for a second you felt as though you were back in your nightmare. You’d twitch, glance immediately circling the ceiling as something would restrain you- thin tendrils of crimson magic, keeping your arms from flaring out at your sides. As if seeing your frustration, your panic, the healer’s sorcery would calm, soothing both your body and your mind into an unnatural lull. “You’re…using-” you’d begin, yet words would evade you once again, no longer fueled by anger. There was only a different feeling- regret, and uncomfortable stone in your stomach that you shied away from, wanting to cower from its weight. You didn’t like yelling at this woman, even as she cradled you with her witchcraft.

You’d feel her heat again, warm hands placing tentative touches to your shoulders, slowly coaxing your glance to hers. “I’m sorry,” she’d breathe, shallow as you’d feel her palms shake against you, “I didn’t want you… to hurt yourself-” Her irises, blooming with clouds of red, would drain into green as you’d feel her magic loosen around your body like unraveling ropes. You wouldn’t shy away from her this time, panting as her gaze would share her soul with you. She, too, held that stone in her gut. Perhaps she didn’t fear you.

You’d part as her back would stiffen, adding a few feet between the two of you. “What is your name?” She’d ask, and you saw the way her head tilted since you looked at her face. Your words came easier now that you were less tense, muscles losing their rigidity, and yet you didn’t have an answer for her. You still pried into her windows, eyes flicking across the expanse of her garden from the view you could get from her living room, but it was a start. “I met your gaze, healer..I’ve done my part, you first.”

You’d see the way her nose crinkled at your response, flecks of mirth illuminating her expression, a grin finding its place there, “Talking now, are we? I’m Wanda.” “I’m..Margo.” In truth, you hadn’t had a name in years, the few decades you’d been alive focused more on survival than memory, especially when your molts made it difficult to discern who you really were- humanoid or avian. You’d forgotten your birth name ages ago, and it was a blessing that your words left your mouth as cleanly as they did. She’d tut at your response, taking it in as satisfactory, “Sure…Margo. Would you like to sit down?”

Wanda would guide you to her kitchen table without much fanfare, settling you on her single chair. With a focused look and a wave of her hand, however- a duplicate would reveal itself from a cloud of scarlet mist. “Your magic is red?” You’d inquire, tilting your head as you’d seen her do, “It’s a violent color. Why is that?”

“Do you really want to toe that line?” Her phrase were humorous, yet you swear a flash of indignation peppered her visage. You were not going to mess with that line, whatever she meant by that. “No, Wanda.” She smiled at that, her name seemingly pleasing in your mouth. You felt the flutter in your chest again, heart drumming a little faster against your shifting ribcage. If this was a sign of your incoming succession, then you had to finish this fast- to return before you transformed in Wanda’s house. And yet, why was the feeling almost pleasant?

“You said you haven’t seen my ‘affliction’ in a while,” You’d recount, finding her term for your molt unremarkable. You’d offer her a glimpse of your arm again, hesitating to touch the quills beneath. It was always tender before a lunation, and you didn’t want to aggravate the transformation further, “It doesn’t normally happen so soon. In hours before the new moon, maybe- not over days.”

“And what happens after those hours?” She’d coax your arm down with a gentle wave, seeing how your movements grew stiff as your skeleton hollowed out. You shrug, “I transform.” Wanda’s expression would sour, yet curiosity prickled underneath. Why did she look at you like that? “Can you help me? You said you're familiar with my kind.”

“..In truth, I’ve never met someone like you,” She’d murmur, expression bashful, and if the circumstances were different you would’ve taken it as a compliment. Instead, spiked embers of dread seared in your stomach, heart beginning to thrum in your ears. She didn’t know. Could she even help you? Her voice would raise a little louder, “However, if you tell me about yourself, perhaps I could figure it out.” With a twirl of her fingers, two cups of..something floated towards the table. Her gaze was an offer, “Thirsty?”

You’d nod, your throat suddenly dry. The drink was smooth and warm, with a bite of something fresh and crisp. It was much better than your rainwater. Gulping more of it down, you notice how she’d smile at your eagerness, careful not to spill as you’d raise the cup from its saucer. “Cider,” she’d mention, motioning to her mug, “Where are you from?” “My cavern is far from here. About half a day’s walk.” Wanda’s eyebrows would raise. “Cavern? You live in a cave?” Her interest was a delight, and you wanted to keep it for as long as you could. You didn’t answer her question, instead throwing one back at her, “Why do you live far from your town?”

“Bellmoor?” Amusement would blanket Wanda’s expression, snorting as she’d shake her head, twisting in her chair so she could lean forward towards you, “Because I like my peace and quiet. I assume the same for you, Птичка?”

“What does that mean?” You’d ask, and she’d tut again. “Now now, that can be your next question, but it’s my turn.” She’d scrunch her nose at your grumbling acquiesce, and you couldn’t help but smile with her. You liked this game. Wanda rested her hands on her table, and your eyes were caught on the shimmer of her rings as she’d speak, “Can you control your transformation?” That one was easy. “Fuckin’ wish I could...” Wanda’s brows would reach her hairline at your curse, but you wouldn’t give her time to comment as yours would stream from your maw, though it’d stop early, “No Aegypius can. What does..”

“‘Птичка’ mean?” She’d grin, rasping her knuckles on the wooden grain at each syllable, “Little bird, birdie, you have feathers underneath your skin, yes?” You’d send her a taunting look, one that she met in equal measure. You’d smile back at her, “Is that your question?”

Wanda would balk, gotten so caught up in teasing you that her words just tumbled out with no direction. You’d see her cheeks grow pink, clearing her throat with a stuttered breath, and you swear she felt like you did when you felt that flutter. “No, it isn’t-” She’d respond smoothly, but you caught how her eyes shimmered, and you took another sip of cider. You knew why when her words made your mind double-take, “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

You almost spit out your drink, coughing on it as you’d sputter, blush alighting your face. You felt it warm and you tried to hide it away, your flustered reaction seemingly pleasing Wanda. She certainly didn’t know what that meant to you, “I..you want me to stay with you- I’m going to molt tonight, Wanda.”

“And if I am to help your transformation, then I must see it in person,” She’d respond, never losing her smile. It soothed you, that richness in her tone and that calm in her expression, and you’d feel a new pull in your heart. One you hated.

Your instincts wanted you to ruin her. Wanted her vulnerable as she was, to splinter her bones into shards you didn’t even have to chew.

To take advantage of her weakness, your hunger eating you alive unless you picked her clean, consumed-

You’d swallow, a shaky breath leaving you. Wanda had blinked, and your voice acted quicker than your mind would comprehend, “I don’t want it helped, Wanda. I want it gone.” You’d feel your skin itch at that, and a cold dread filled your gut, like the Matron’s chill held you once again. Your words were a whisper. “But I don’t think my body will let me.”

“All the more reason for you to stay. Do you have anything that helps you calm down?” She’d ask, leaning forward with a gentle lilt. Her hand would’ve come across the table, offering her palm to yours. It was calloused, warm skin juxtaposed with smooth metal, and you took it in yours gratefully. You were starting to really like her company.

------------------------------------------

The hours would’ve floated by you, a subtle bliss filling you as you and Wanda would’ve enjoyed the rest of your evening together. You could feel your body shift by the hour, and yet a part of you didn’t care if you were with her. You’d show her your chains, mentioning their unknown inscription and how they’d keep your form….distracted. You would be kept in the barn once the moonless night had begun, the sky within a period of tranquil dusk. She ghosted her hand across the rim of your shackles, and you were surprised they didn’t burn her like they did you. An Aegypius trait, you supposed.

Wanda had made you stew using that pot from earlier, while you hovered in the vicinity, chopping up carrot and onion into more manageable pieces. The meal was finished after it had boiled for a long time, and it was only when you sat down to enjoy it with her that a blink of movement would catch your eye. The bay windows curved in a beautiful shape that let the last vestiges of light in, and you’d register the sight of silver metal piercing into the glass before you heard it smash.

A figure leapt through its shattered remains, thick cloak blanketing their form to protect them from the glass. Their armor and longsword was polished beautifully, and they would be regal if it wasn’t for their war shout and barred teeth. You could see their face beneath their hood, just before the glint of their weapon as it’d slice down towards your chest.

You’d dodge, rushing backwards until your back hit the other end of the wall. As the longsword would finish its downward arc, Wanda’s magic would cradle its blade, her hands outstretched and bent as if trying to push it up. Her voice was strangled and thin, heard between the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears, “run, Margo- go!”

Turning to bolt, you’d hear the clatter of boots against wood as a rougher hand would grab you by the scruff of your neck. Writhing in their hold, you’d shove your elbow into the ribs of your attacker, before grabbing their hand from your nape to sink your teeth into it. “Fuck, you гриф-” The knight’s heavy breath was audible from behind your back. You’d bite harder, feeling their skin break beneath your jaw as you’d thrash, trying to cleave flesh off. They’d tear their hand from you, kicking your legs with a force that sent you barreling down.

Your head would hit the hardwood floor, and you could hear the ringing in your ears as you’d look up, vision swimming as everything looked double. Your hooded attacker brandished their longsword with two hands above you, although it looked like they had four. Before they could stab the blade downward, Wanda’s hand would lurch out to their neck- pressing the kitchen knife into their throat as her other palm would scratch towards the knight’s eyes, the pair barreling backwards which left you an outside view that made your pupils retract into pinpricks.

The sky was dark, illuminated with bright swaths of stars. Tears pricked at your eyes. The few treetops you saw couldn’t even reach its height, blanketing the world in an awaiting gloom. You knew the moon was out there, but you couldn’t see it. Your mind reeled, thoughts growing famished as you’d stare into its expanse. You licked your lips. The sky offered you reprieve, and who were you to deny its feast?

The wheezing pop of bone into stronger sockets would startle Wanda and her assailant into a tense standoff, your witch pinning the stranger to the floorboards while the knight tried in vain to grasp at their longsword that had been kicked many feet away. Your breath heaved with strength you hadn’t felt before, seizing as the voice that came from you was no more than a guttural hiss. Your skull would reshape, mouth widening into a curved beak, hooking into serrated edges, while your skull would become angular, bird like. Anything but human, you were no longer recognizable. Feathers would blanket the creature’s shifting musculature, tearing from roughened skin as they’d fan into shape. Its arms and legs grow as its fingers would lengthen, bat-like wings creaking before they’d be covered in plumage; ivory white on it’s neck and shoulders, cascading into darker blacks and blues elsewhere. The monster’s feathers wouldn’t remain unpigmented for long, as they’d begin to warm on its skin- sparks flying from where they touched, growing into a burnt umber. The beast would groan as its wings crashed to the floor- bipedalism was no longer an option, the force cracking the wooden boards. Horns would thunder from shaking its monstrous head, the beast’s eyes blinking into pale gold with a crimson ring surrounding them. A black line of feathers ran down the side of its face and to its gaping maw, tufted at its chin. Its feathers had heated into shades of orange, flecked with flame- while cyan speckled where its temperature had reached an apex.

Silence would still the room, the shaky inhale of breath marking the presence of living beings in it’s fray. The demon would blink again, a gnashing sound emanating from inside its cavernous beak. It’d then raise itself on its haunches, spread its twelve meter wingspan (shattering the walls in its wake), and echo a deafening, reverberating call into the night.

The hunt had truly begun. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

~~~

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1e1e1e · 6 months

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cvlutos · 2 years

Text

“Divine nor Forsaken” Ch.Two

| 02.10.23 | 4.7K | Rated R |

Multi-Character X Fem!Reader [TWST: DEMON AU]

T.Manor.Notes: Please heed warnings. Okay, but chapter two. Finally finished it.

| Masterlist | Male Version | Gender-Neutral Version |

“There are some things, my little dove, that we cannot change. Such is the way with people.”

Your mother’s voice is gentle—calming, as she tucks you in, making sure you’re all tight and warm. Most nights she’ll sing a little bedtime song, stuffing you in your thick blankets, to where you couldn’t move, and forcing you to wiggle like a little worm. Yet tonight, she settles on reading you a story. A story about a girl who befriended all that met her, but none could save her from fate. One who told in a daze-like state, faltering in some parts and stronger in others.

She holds a somber look upon her face, with still a smile placed across her lips as if even in her own sorrow, she can’t help but smile when she sees you. However, her gaze falters for a moment, brows crinkling as her posture changes. She shifts her eyes from you. As if almost regretful. The room is still cold, and you can’t help but shiver and slide deeper into your densely woven covers.

“My little Songbird,” she muses, her hands gripping the red dress fabric across her knees. She keeps her head bowed, “… Promise me… That you’ll find the good within everything and put trust in strangers.” She has a mournful smile, one that doesn’t reach her eyes, as if these were words that she never wanted to be spoken. Never uttered past her tight-lined lips. She lives with regret.

“MOVE!”

A large body hurries past you, frantic hands shoving you to the ground. Your mind takes a moment to register what happens, as a sharp pain shoots through your skull. Your head slams into the dirt floor, a pained cry slipping past your dried, cracked lips. The bubble in your ears seems to pop, another shot of pain, as your hands blindly press against your aching ears, trying to dull the pain.

Screams.

Yells.

Voices on top of voices.

The sounds of rushing feet, pained screams as people trampled over people. A huge crowd formed as all ran towards the woods or into random buildings to hide, pushing those they deemed too slow to the ground or into others. Some shout in rage, to move, to run, to survive. Yet your ears pick up the crying of children, separated from parents, and sobbing mothers clinging desperately to their little ones. And oh, so desperate fathers, swinging useless weapons, doing what a father should. Protecting his family. Even if he fails.

The air smells of fire. The smells of burning wood and burning flesh. Those unfortunate get trapped within a collapsed house, screaming for help, only for a demon to ravage through the destroyed building. Screams for help turn to gurgles and cries of pain.

And the wind does nothing but fan the flames. That forces the voices to travel further and makes the scared crowd worse. Like frightened sheep. The fires grow at fast speeds and ravage the town.

You were shoved; your hands slid from your ears and push against the ground. You lift your head up, then your upper body. Your lip bleeds, and your eyes water as dust gets in. You rub your eyes, gritting your teeth. Your legs scraped along the dirt, blood slowly seeping into the dirt road, your dress torn and filthy. Everything seems to move around you in a fast blur, as if taken picture by picture and put together, yet you still, as if you were the one behind the camera, taking multiple photos at once in hopes of a single good shot. You struggle to move as if your own body was carved out of the heaviest stone and the ground was paper, mere fabric, ready to give way at any moment.

You would fall.

You drop your dirtied hands from your eyes. Letting out a choked breath before trying to move again. Eyes darting around the burning town. To think that only a few hours you walked through, ready for work. Yet now.

It’s ruined. Demons ruined it.

Demons. Looming figures, hunched beasts. With snarling jaws and lanky arms and bodies, with no rhyme nor reason to how they moved. Some staggered as if half-dead, others crawled, and some walked. Or those that few above with torn wings and unhinged jaws, picking up people—prey larger than themselves.

They growl and yell, spitting black saliva as they speak--taunting, eating, and absorbing humans. Sucking them into their gooey flesh.

People you knew.

You struggle to keep yourself together, your breath comes out in short wheezes, and your heart rises to your throat which makes it impossible to breathe. You could die. You watch familiar faces become lifeless, and you can’t breathe. Your hands seize the fabric of your shirt, it’s too tight. The ground seems to give way beneath you. You can’t move—you can’t move. Your legs feel like heavy weights, filled to the brim with sand and became your legs, and as if the pain of feeling like your legs weren’t your own wasn’t enough. You tried to move, to pull yourself forward by your hands, yet it felt as if metal poles plunged into your flesh, forcing you in place. You feel sweat gathered on your skin.

It’s hot.

You feel surrounded. Covered in a layer of your own sweat and dirt, like a heavy blanket, whose threads were coming undone to wrap around your throat and chest. You struggle to stand. Nails clawing into the side of the building, using it to stabilize yourself. You cry out in pain, feeling your legs and head throb.

You should be running, screaming, sobbing. You should be. Yet you feel tired—you are tired. As if all your energy was sucked from your very being. You cough, squinting as smoke stings your eyes. Home. You need to go home. You feel dizzy as you stagger forward, staring through the smoke, through the ever-thinning crowd. Your eyes land on green. The quickest flash, as if almost lightning. A shiver runs down your spine, and your eyes widen.

The demon from before.

He holds a weighty axe, one that isn’t his. Far too small for his large hands, yet coated in red. You feel your stomach lurch, and the smell of blood oozes off of him. He holds the axe as if merely a stick as he swings it lazily, sending only a mere glance to those he struck, his eyes landing on you. Your hands shake, and he makes his way towards you, striking those in his way, whether demon or human. Most know well to remain out of his way. Your body screams at you to move. Move. Move. Move.

“Move.”

As if some foreign voice enters your head, warm and oddly bored, as if it rather be doing anything else. Nonetheless, you blindly listen. You shove off the wall with a panicked sound, stumbling and nearly tripping, ignoring the pins and needles as you force yourself to a gallop sorta like a run, hissing in pain. You push yourself to go as fast as you could, ignoring the burning in your throat as bile rose. The burning of your lungs. It all seems a blur as your falter and slip, yet you don’t stop running. If you do. You’ll die.

You run instinctively home, darting in-between bodies and demons far too focused on their meals. The sky slowly becomes darker, as the fire doesn’t spread towards the trees. You run still, even in the dark, with no moon to guide you and no torch to light your way. You know this path.

You know it well. Your father always made sure you knew the way home.

Your feet barely graze the stone steps in front of your home, nearly slipping, and your body rams into your door. Fumbling with the doorknob, before turning it and hurling yourself inside. You slam the door behind you, scrabbling with the locks, gasping for breath.

Your home is draft. Cold. Unchanged. You step away from the door, eyeing it carefully, letting your body slowly rest. Forcing your tense muscles to relax. You allow yourself to breathe, slightly proud of making it out of the town and fighting off whatever spell was forced upon you. Ridding you of your ability to move. It all seems calm.

BANG

Your body jolts, hands flying over your lips to muffle a scared shriek.

BANG

A series of bangs, thuds, and forcefully panicked hits and kicks, and your door flinches at each one. Yet it doesn’t break.

“[NAME]! PLEASE!”

“PLEASE—”

“I DONT WANNA DIE—”

“HELP! OPEN THE DOOR—”

Your name is screamed like a broken symphony. Equal to a band of shrill untuned instruments that are rusted and worn. As voices—voices that are oh so familiar to you—cry for you. Scream. Beg. Plead for you to only open the door. To let them in. To save them. Voices you know far too well.

Save them.

The old grandma down the street who shares her pies with you—while telling you stories of magic from when she lived in the city. The hardworking miner and his newly pregnant wife, who spent years unable to conceive until early this year, who prayed to the very gods for a healthy baby that they wished to have. The two daughters to the schoolteacher, who always gives you seeds for a garden every time you saw them. The door shakes against its hinges and you step forward, tears close to spilling as your lips quiver. Yet a cold shiver runs down your spine. You weren’t alone.

Your door was unlocked.

The tip of a blade grazes along the center of your back, a silent warning, as a hand ushers you forward. Grip tight and bruising on your shoulder as you pressed up against the door. Which shakes and jolts. You can hear the wood groan and creak, yet still, it remains standing. And the voices. They won’t stop begging.

But it grows. From desperate—frantic—animalistic. On par with the growls and screams of demons. You can feel their desperation change into resentment. Each plea changes into a curse. Each condemning you to hell, to rot with the very demons that will kill them and soon you. Your hands shake violently and you want to help them. To let them inside.

You need to—

“Don't.”

The voice is weighty and cold as if a blizzard took form and made itself comfortable within his throat. You feel a chilly breeze fan across your skin and you shiver, violently. He’s a demon and there’s a portion of you that tense—afraid—yet you feel no intent to harm you.

He’s calming.

It’s a mild threat that freezes your motions. He makes no motion to stop you, expecting you to simply obey. While reminding you of the situation you’re in. And you listen. You press your palms against the jolting door, feeling your heartbeat in your throat, feeling the door shake against your sticky forehead. The one behind you doesn’t make any effort to move nor speak. Letting you—forcing you to wallow in their suffering.

“To think you could run.”

The voice is distant. Beyond your home and outside your door, annoyed and angry. Your heart drops and you squeeze your eyes closed, feeling your throat constrict.

The demon from the tavern.

Your muscles lock and you feel weak. Shaking your head from the oncoming headache. It’s like you could hear him. Feel him. His every breath. Every threatening step he took. The raging hatred from humans. It burns. As if you were tossed into a fire pit and left to painfully thrash around. It burns.

Those that try to run. Try to flee deeper into the forest, are met with howls and distorted laughter as demons that hid within darkened woods take them. Rip them apart and leave them nothing.

You hear final prays.

Final whispers of ‘I love you’.

As the man embraces his wife, hugging her so tightly as if he alone could defy fate. Demons tear them apart. Laughing. Taunting. Faking pity. Yanking them from each other. You hear him shrieking for his wife. His love. Only for his voice to cut off with a roar and the sounds of bones snapping. While the demons laugh. The mother with an unborn child, who prayed for years to become a loving mother. She screams and curses you, curses you for the loss of her husband and her child. She too is met with the same fate.

There’s no pounding on the door, yet the soft whimpers of the daughters, holding each other, while the old grandma is dragged away. Hands clasped and praying still. “[Name]…” The softest calling of your name. A final plea. You don’t hear the two girls scream.

Your knees feel weak, gravity pulling you down as your body trembles. You choke on your breath. The demon lets you fall, removing the blade from your back and taking a large step back. Watching you hold yourself as you cry against the door, shoving your face in your hands.

“Even if you let them inside. They would have still died. It is better they died outside than inside.” It feels like his own twisted way of comforting, yet it doesn’t help. They died hating you.

“Though, I apologize. I wish that it did not have to happen this way.”

His voice is monotone, yet sincere. You try and calm your crying, resting your head against the door. The sound of his shoes echoes as he moves from you. He casually explores your house. You can’t speak to him.

“... Your home is nice and quaint... familiar.” You don’t move. Yet you can tell that it is out of his own nature to speak, but he does. He falls silent and continues searching, using his sword to glance at paintings, pick up pieces of clothing, and open and skim the pages of books, using the blade to flip the pages.

You hear his sword tap the glass of a photo, and his voice breaks the silence. “You remind me of her.” You glance at him, his sword grazing along the glass of a photo of you, your mother, and your father. Your force yourself to look back at the wood of the door. “A splitting image, almost. You look the same as she did when she was young—She acted the same when we had done away with her family—” The air grows cold as if a growing snow storm and dread fills your stomach and grows.

“I hope that you do not end up like your mother.”

That gets a reaction. Your head immediately snapped over to him, brows furrowed and lips down, turning. He isn’t looking at you, but out the window, surveying the land. He seems unbothered by it all. With shoulder-length, silver hair pulled into a ponytail, and eyes of light blue that held a sliver of pity.

“What—”

Your voice cracks, unbearably dry and scratchy. He turns his head to you after a moment, looking over you. He seems to almost frown when gazing. “Yet you look like your father as well.” he takes a step forward and his gaze seems to freeze you. You look down.

With your body still facing the door, the tip of his sword stings against your skin as he raises your head gently, forcing you to look up at him. He tilts his head to the side before crouching down quickly, yet oddly, gracefully.

“... You must head North...”

His words are simple and transparent and he steps away, glancing towards your dining room table. He strides slowly to the table, the heels of his shoes clicking. He picks up the letter and looks over it. You want to tell him to put it down. Yet his brows scrunch up and for a moment you think he’s going to take it.

Yet he doesn’t.

“The course has been set for you. You must merely find the signs.”

He drops the letter, and with a frosty breeze, you’re alone. At the disappearance of the demon, your body drops, a sudden wave of exhaustion makes it hard to move. You let out a shaky breath, and after a moment, you pull yourself to your feet and wobble away from the door.

It’s silent. Far too silent. You need to leave.

You stagger up the old stairs, feeling one almost give way, breaking beneath your feet. Yet you’re quick to dart over the broken step, stumbling to your room and shoving open the door. You pack blindly, throwing only the most travel-fit clothes and shoes. Anything you could need, throwing spare money, tools, anything, and everything as you take your bag and stumble down the steps, preparing loads of food to take with you. The ramshackle isn’t safe.

You stand in front of the wooden door. There would be no returning. No do-overs. Nothing. You would never come back home. You drop your bag and slowly look over your home. A home you’ve lived in for years. Your parents’ home. You ignore the anxiety that fills you, as your turn back to the door.

Slowly, you undo every lock and hold the knob, counting the seconds before pulling the door open. The foul stench of copper paints your tongue and feels your senses completely, as blood paints the ground, soaking into the dirt and staining the trees. Bodies upon bodies lay ripped, torn, destroyed. Each resting at the oddest angles, heads turned in ways they shouldn’t. You take a hesitant step back, only to bump into something solid. You freeze, your hands and body shaking as cruel arms wrap around you. “You caused this.” His voice is husky in your ears and he tightens his hold, your knees nearly buckling as he slowly rests his weight on you. The demon from before, with the green hair. He continues squeezing, and it hurts.

He’s hurting you.

“Bugs. Should be with bugs.” There’s a sentiment of hatred, and you groan in pain, unable to move an inch. You can feel your bones crack. “They lived together. It’s only right you die together.” He sneers viciously, tightening his hold, and you wheeze and wiggle like a fish forcibly removed from the water. Fighting a fight you can’t win, and from the corner of your eyes, lime green eyes seem to glow, with a vicious grin spread across his slips, revealing red-stained canines. “Humans truly are pathetic.” As you feel every bone was shattered, your ribcage collapses into each other.

Your life flashes before your eyes. Your mother. Your father. You scream in pain, thrashing around more on reflex than consciousness. The letter. Blood slips past your lips, as bones break through your skin.

You haven’t read the letter from your father.

══════ ♡ ══════

“It is rare to hear from you.”

Bored grey human eyes stare into the richly colored crimson liquid. The coppery smell filled his nose and swarmed around his brain in the most delightful way. The thick liquid rests idly in his porcelain teacup, which he holds delicately. He occasionally sips, taking his time to slowly drink the warm, fresh blood. Bringing the glass up to his lips and slowly partook in the thick fluid, a pleasant sigh vibrating in his throat. For a moment, he forgets that he isn’t alone and has an unexpected guest.

One from the Kingdom and the seventh army.

“Though it is not an unpleasant surprise, General.” The grey-eyed demon gives a small smile, and the demon general gives a pleasant greeting in turn, large eyes in taking the nicely decorated tent that smelled of blood and roses. The commander’s favorite smells, though the demon of pride would never speak of it. Magenta eyes move from the decor to the commander himself. It has been quite some time since he last saw the young demon. He hasn’t changed. Same small stature, with often cold grey eyes, and flushed peachy skin, with two black obsidian ram horns, with rose red tips, framed perfectly on the side of upper foreheads with straight red hair. A human form that the demon commander took great pride in. Spending days to fashion the perfect look, based on an old human monarch.

The commander shifts in his seat, offering a small smile, his white-gloved hand silently motioning to the empty chair across from him.

The General chuckles. The commander has always been so respectful and tries best to make the best out of surprised visits. Especially from demons of higher rank, and the General from the seventh is exactly that. Even as he takes the form of an innocent short man, yet speaks like an old wise bat.

“And a pleasure. As always to see you, Riddle.” The general bows as he floats above his chair, a small gust of wind blowing from the release of his magic as he plops into his seat, gently rocking the table.

“I hate to go so long without visiting. I have quite missed our tea times, Sanguinum.”

The commander of the first army, Sanguinum. Or Riddle Rosehearts.

Riddle lets out a low hum, once again picking up his cup and sipping from it, closing his eyes for a brief moment. His eyes flutter open, “As have I. 38 years since the last time, I believe.” The demon of Pride places his red and white porcelain teacup back on its saucer and stands. Waving his hand, letting magic pour the guest “tea”, before with another wave returning the pot black to its place.

“Has it been that long?” the general’s eyes widen in disbelief before laughing, “oh my! How time flies.” The General with pink and black hair sighs in delight the moment he takes a sip of the blood. He can taste the sweetest, probably from a woman of middle age. Riddle always did prefer sweeter-tasting humans.

“Indeed. It goes quite fast.”

The commander waits a moment, his mood going from relaxed to uptight, his posture slowly straightening. “Then you must be here for good reason.” The general tilts his head to the side in faux confusion, taking another long gulp.

“And can it not be here to merely see a friend?” He batters his lashes, and Riddle’s face falls, giving a knowing look. The general only laughs, placing his cup on the table, propping his elbows up, and interlacing his fingers to rest his chin upon.

“Tell me what troubles you.”

Riddle hesitates for a moment, before sighing. “If I’m not needed to fight, then I should be sent back.” The room drops a couple degrees, and Riddle’s face dips for a moment, and he forces his gaze to his cup, gently swirling the glass. The general wears an apprehensive expression. “Riddle...”

The general’s voice falters, eyes once again scanning around the pseudo-room. It’s filled with different trophies and winnings from the last 15 years since the war started. Such as prized tea sets, clothing, tools, jewelry, and anything and everything he and his army took from the villages and towns they raided.

15 years. But to be sent back. Back to beneath to the realm of Demons.

A part of the general agrees, the first army has been out on the front lines for a few years, 20. Five years merely searching for the pact bearer and another 15 for when the war began. Yet it is only the North conquered. With still the west, east, and south that have yet to be within the King’s control. And well…

“I am honored to have fought for the king.” Riddle’s voice breaks his through the process, hand subconsciously rubbing over the back of his hand, where his pact once was. A once calming action now... torturous. To lose the one who knew your mind and body, it must hurt—it does hurt. The general’s hand itches to move, yet he stops himself.

“I—I cannot guarantee anything, but I will talk to him.” The commander seems to brighten up, a relieved look crossing his features, before settling into a more relaxed posture. The two talk for an hour, telling stories and telling, catching up on the last 38 years. There’s a feeling of familiarity.

“Before you go, General.” The general stops mid-stretch, listening to the sound of the teacup gently clinking against the matching saucer. He glances over his shoulder, face changing from a grin to one of full perturbation. Riddle has a dark expression as if just remembering something gravely important.

“We must speak about Callidus.”

══════ ♡ ══════

You awake with a gasp, your body automatically jumping as if leaping from death’s hands. Pain shoots up from your right leg and you screech, unprepared and confused. You try and gather your thoughts, feeling sweat accumulate on your skin, your stomach churning, and head pulsing achingly. You feel nauseous.

You try to move, hands clutching the wood that held you, your head turning to look down. Half of your leg, up to your mid-thigh, was bleeding and disappeared beneath the broken wooden step. It had broken beneath you when you tried going upstairs, and you slammed your head and fell unconscious. You were alone and before… what happened before was a dream.

Only a dream.

Even if it was a dream, you still have to leave. But with your leg, you grimace, you’d have to wait. And you’re also exhausted and sure that sleep wouldn’t greet you. You groan in pain, hands clawing at the wood and slowly pulling yourself up. You wince, careful to not move your bleeding leg.

It doesn’t feel broken.

Your face scrunches as your use the wooden banister to pull yourself. It feels like hours until you’re free, using your bruised good leg, to carefully climb the rest of the stairs, using the wall and railing to support you. You hop to your room, groaning at every moment. Your body ached, painfully so. Pushing the half-lidded door to your dark bedroom, hobbling over to your vanity, and rummaging inside the top drawer. You keep your head down, using the very limited light to search for any cloth to wrap your leg and medicine would be in the bathroom.

“It has been—what—18 years since I last saw you. Barely two years old.”

You freeze, hands clutching random pieces of cloth, the voice came from behind you, from the furthest corner of your room. You can’t will yourself to look. Yet you do, looking through the mirror, across your room, a man shrouded in darkness, yet with striking green eyes. Boredom radiates off of him in waves, yet a sense of blatant honesty. Not because he values honesty, but moreso, lying to him would be pointless. It feels like he knows you, every move you’ll make, every thought you’ll ever have. He can read it off as if it was merely a book, a book that he wouldn’t be bothered to read.

“I’m not here to kill you.”

Yet his plain words don’t reassure you. He moves from his corner, and you blindly step away, momentarily forgetting about your leg and yelping out before landing on your side. As if he knew that would happen, he snorts under his breath, staying in the darkest parts of your room, deliberately closing the space between you. Like predator circling prey, but as well as if he wasn’t an intruder. But someone who lived here and had every right to be here.

“Then—Then, why are you here?” Your voice falters and he shrugs almost, tilting his head to look at a carved wooden box you were gifted, before placing it down after deeming it uninteresting. It does this with several different objects, looking at them, before finding them boring and placing them down where it was.

You watch at him, and you can tell he has long hair that goes down to his shoulders, and warm brown skin, with a tail and ears, but horns that were broken off, jagged edges gleaming. He was a demon. You can see him roll his eyes at your sudden conclusion as if it wasn’t completely and utterly obvious.

He drags out a long sigh, falling into an old rocking chair your father made, rolling his neck as to remove the aching. Very human action and your shoulders drop. You should be scared, yet he reminds you a little bit of your mother. The tiniest familiarity, like when you hang around someone long enough, you pick up their habits.

“… I’m here to,” he thinks for a moment, looking over you before letting out a low annoyed sigh, as if what he was about to say would kill him, “to make a pact.”

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medali-meltdown · 8 months

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🌻Brassius headcanons🌻 (companion post to this one, now with added imagery (a single screenshot but so worth it))

-In his mid-40s but refuses to accept it, which manifests in ways such as: pulling all-nighters like a young student, skipping/forgetting meals, continuing to make an impression on gym challengers by leaping from the tops of windmills, roofs, whatever's convenient. Any of these habits could break his fragile body. Speaking of which...

-He started doing the wild leaps in school as a cool stunt and way to show off and be memorable, but he has a private reason also — it's his way of defying death and mocking his illness. By gods he's going to live and not only that, he's going to do it in the most avant-garde way.

-tbh I haven't pinpointed exactly what is his chronic illness. Asthma? Hey wouldn't it be ironic if he has a severe pollen allergy while loving and being surrounded by plant pokemon? (just like me fr) Also I'm still on the idea a friend told me of him describing his symptoms as thorny vines in his lungs (which could be his creative way of describing a common asthma attack, and of course he styles his hair in the same manner because he's just Like That).

-Nature and the turns of seasons are his religion. He dabbled in paganism in his younger days. Found the modern practices too commercialized, but keeps it in his heart, in private.†

-Super pretty when he was younger. Wore his hair long, and with it being so thick and wavy, it cascaded about his (fuller, more lively) face and slender neck, even when he had it pulled into a ponytail. Stormy grey eyes always in deep contemplation of Art. Elegant ways of moving and speaking, radiating beauty with every step and word... honey what happened.

-(Nothing, it's all still there if you know what to look for and Hassel sure does, he is an expert on beauty, after all!)

-Hassel 💗💗 What a long, complex history he has with Hassel. They were good friends as students long ago, both being in arts & music classes. Brassius looked up to the multi-talented Hass from day one, always inspired by him and his bravery. Of course he fell in love with his muse, but for one reason or another, they never could quite be together, at least for very long. It might take Hassel until the present to reconcile his feelings, but will it be too late? (please I have a whole fic I want to write about this, of course I love them being Extremely Married but consider this: 20 years' worth of Mutual Gay Pining and the angst what follows)

-Just like born musician Hassel has some art in him, natural artist Brassius has some form of musical talent. After all, he's the Verdant Virtuoso — a term that skews toward musicians. I like to think he's got a good singing voice.* Belts out tunes while he's in the Art Zone. In perfect Spanish Paldean because he's bilingual.

-Whenever the mood strikes him (rarely, anymore), this guy can get a little kinky. He may carry a rope to help him climb high for tall sculptures (I guess???), but it also comes in handy for tying up unruly dragons~

-He's had many more partners in the past than Hassel has, and therefore a lot of practice. Not so much these days, however. His art, gym, and health come first.

-The Surrendering Sunflora Story: it's easy to tell that Brassius, at the beginning of his art career, let his personal vision suffer because he was focused on being more of a content creator, gaming that algorithm in endless pursuit of fame, fans, and money. The stress got to him, making his illness flare up to near-fatal levels. Was there anything else stressing him out at the time? Was he battling debilitating depression as well? Because he was prepared to die from it all — whether or not his debut work succeeded. And then Hassel appeared. "It was then I met Hass." So they must have become friends a little later in their student lives? Out of nowhere comes Hassel to remind Brassius of the meaning of Art, and that saves his life. Where's that meme picture of the creature holding onto a wall and going i think i need a moment wait

-It's p much universally accepted that Brassius gave Hassel the Applin that would evolve into the latter's Flapple. I think Brassie did so after the Surrendering Sunflora exhibition was complete to express his feelings. Unfortunately, Hassel, not being from this part of the world and unfamiliar with nearby Galar's customs, thinks it's simply a friendly gesture of appreciation. Hang in there, Brassie ❤️‍🩹

-Maybe once Hass figures it out he'll give Brassius a Dipplin in return. "There are two bodies sharing one sweet home! It's more symbolic than the Applin, right? Surely they know this in Galar...?" "No, Hass, Dipplin's apple is only found in a region that's very far away, so it doesn't have that kind of meaning..." "🥺🥺😭 B-BUT IT'S USSSS"

†Meta: isn't the Pokemon world inherently pagan? I know we like to throw around the name of Arceus and/or Mew as though they are God, but... they're not really? Do not let me get theological on this post about my grass blorbo hfhfhsh

*Look, his deep, deep Japanese voice did things to me, and learning that seiyuu Nakai Kazuya voiced Mugen of all people (and some other guys I guess, Zoro if you go there) amuses me to no end hhhn

#gym leader brassius #brassius #ephemeralartshipping #hassius #pokemon sv #pokemon scarlet and violet #please enjoy my brainrot #rotating them in my head 24/7 in between other paldeans haha

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alives · 1 month

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——— BASICS ! ♡

NICKNAME : rory

PRONOUNS : they / them or any tbqh

ZODIAC SIGN : leo

TAKEN OR SINGLE : taken

——— THREE FACTS ! ♡

i was diagnosed as a type one diabetic at the ripe age of twenty one ( one of my many medical mysteries bc wtf )

i have three pets & between those three there are seven legs. have fun with that math !

i have a dancing pole in my bedroom & my favorite move i can do is a layback ( & i severely pay the price for it x )

——— EXPERIENCE ! ♡

i've been rping since like 2011/2012 without fully knowing it was called rp at the time in some weird chatrooms online with strange emojis that haunt my dreams to this day. started indie tumblr rping in like 2014 bc of my ex girlfriend , kept tumblr rping till 2017 or so , came back a few times but haven't been fully back until this year in indie at least. i've done a bunch of group rps as well as some twitter & jcink ones. i just always end up back in indie after awhile , my brain just fluctuates with what i want to write & my attention on media so honestly ?? multi is the way to go & i'm not sure why i didn't before now.

——— MUSE PREFERENCE ! ♡

for some reason i always pick muses that are extremely devoted to another in some way , one of my first & longest muses was horn skuld & my recent comeback to indie was zestial / paimon in a similar vein. magnus bane however has been by far my longest muse considering i still write him here on this account. chewbacca might actually be my other longest. some of my friends will also claim i write old men & they aren't entirely wrong.

——— FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT ! ♡

FLUFF : i'm a sucker for some fluff !! it's a nice little palette cleanser after angst. ironically will have me kicking my feet more embarrassed than smut.

ANGST : i love it. i think it's very fun to make my writing partners scream & button smash over it. > : ) there's just something fun about exploring emotions in the same way i like watching the occasional sad movie !

SMUT : also 110% okay with it !! but i also don't mind fade to black if that's what my partner prefers. some of my muses are a little spicy ✨ considering the media they're from.

PLOT / MEMES : both ? both !!! i adore plotting when we're just talking about our muses & shooting thoughts back & forth. but memes are really great ice breakers too !!

tagged by: i'm a thief tagging: steal it from me !!

#﹢﹔ ◟ 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𓆪 dash games. ◝

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plexiglasssheets · 7 months

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Pine-ing part 1

EDIT Prebook of book of bill so ermmmm

Fuck it fiddauthor fic probably will multi part | Cross posted on Ao3

PT 2 ================================

1982 Dec 17,

F was having somewhat reasonable holiday with drawls. His family away, I could sympathize with him. It had been a long time since I've sat with my family for anything. A homed cooked meal became a distant taste, as my cooking skills are mediocre to non existent. It being a Saturday it seemed reasonable to go into the town for a meal. We went to the diner that he loves, he said their bacon and syrup pair together like no other.

I take his word for it, as odd food combinations were never my thing, Stanley used to do something similar wit-

He went to walk around the town, but I couldn't just drive back home and leave him in the snowy town. I never liked walking about but the trip seemed to be doing F well so what's an hour or so walking around.

There was a library but I combed through that my first month here, to little interest. There was a coffee shop but it was far too populated to give any sense of relax. But then I found it, a book shop.

Empty, Dusty and may have smelled of dead cat. It was fantastic. The lights were old with that nice yellow glow, flickering and loud. The shelves were a dark wood and dusty beyond belief, perhaps a walnut, wood was never my thing. The back was practically made for me, hand written accounts and journals, ecological studies and records that were the only copies.

To say I was excited was an understatement. The cashier was a fine looking young gentleman, most likely my age. He seemed kind enough so I thought nothing of it when he watch me move around the shop. With the state of the shop I can safely assume that he doesn't get many costumers.

I went to purchase my books, and the worker was very friendly. The first person here that shared my intrigue with it oddities. Complementing my book choices no less.

Then F walked in, he had two coffees and his satchel seemed bigger so safe to assume he bought other things. But there was a look to his face the same one he gives me when I talk to my muse for 'too long' in his words. I always took it as him being perhaps unsure of the greater power. I was never good at reading emotions, but have I mistaken his jealously? It would seem so if I knew what there was to be jealous about.

But the coffee he brought me was perfect. The way I love in, black coffee, no sugar, no creamer. Me and F left after I put my books in my own bag.

The cashier asked for my phone number to discuss books later, which I don't have as my equipment interferes with any telephone lines so I had to decline. I would have said I be back but I'd be lying if did, as me and F's schedule wouldn't fit a whole other escapade to town.

I would have explained but F seemed to want to leave so I politely declined.

We made way back to my truck and started to drive up the long rode to my cabin. Another moment I was grateful for the coffee. As my car absorbs what ever weather is outside and triples it.

Bitter caffeine as a hand warm what could be better. I would have played my favorite CD of eurythmics, but F was never a fan. Recently buying me an ABBA's singles when he went to the grocery store last month for that very reason. He was idlily tapping to the music, but he seemed off.

He was upset.

I was never one for emotions or feelings. I was always the logic, that's what I was good at. I can solve equations the length of a room but can't figure out how to ask a frie what upset him. We were a few minutes from my place, I was internally fighting if I should speak, but I understood people enough to know I Should, just I didn't know what exactly to say.

I asked him what he got. Great start, he's engaged and if he doesn't want to talk he doesn't have to. Perfect.

A present for his son.

Shit.

He got divorced last year, as she wanted him to be with them. I didn't know much, its was just messy. He missed his son, not so his wife but it was a touchy subject.

I forgot most enjoy time with family.

Family hasn't been the same for a while so sending holiday letters sufficed any familial need. Meeting F at collage, he is the only other person who hasn't cared about my freakishness, that I'm ever grateful for him. And I can't help but feel guilty about his family problems. He wouldn't have left if I didn't ask. The more to value his companionship.

He asked about my own purchases, and told him. The journals, the record reports, the primary historical recounts. An utter drug to my brain, he seemed to be engaged till I mentioned the book seller.

Off put? Upset? He wasn't happy. Bitter? Maybe, but I suppose that mixed with his family business upset him. But I didn't know how to ask. 'hey F why are you so upset about a bookseller?'

Stupid, I know, but easy to ignore.

We pulled into the drive way and rushed inside and hung our frosted coats. It was my turn to make dinner, F went off to his room to read like he does. But unlike usual he came down while I was still cooking. He seemed less upset which was good, he sat at the table and watch me cook as he read a book.

I was no chef, so I felt so- observed. It was no different then when we worked, me doing a tasks as he read. But this felt, intimate? for lack of better word. The dim kitchen light blub that was in desperate need of a change flickered its orange hue that filled that small room.

It was a Friday, so it was so it was excusable for the two of us to have a beer or two while we watch trash television the living room. F hated them but I had a soft spot for them as they were what plagued the tv set my mother had.

We barely watched the show and more added our own commentary, We cracked much needed dumb jokes in the tv lit room. Its blue filter light our only sources to see.

F had his glasses off, and was sat next to me on the couch.

It felt right.

A feeling that felt long distance that he only seemed to bring.

Its no mystery that girls were a mystery to me. Relationships felt so unnecessary, and I dance around the thought of the alterative. Which- I don't think I'll go into now.

He commented something about some 3? maybe for 4 dramatized way relationship that was going on. His dead seriousness made it possible to not laugh out. Holding my stomach and bending over, sides hurting. One of those that aren't funny but still somehow are.

That night was nice. It was a good refresher, I bid him good night and headed to bed myself. Sleep was different, usually I'm so exhausted I pass out, but tonight I just couldn't. My thoughts were somewhere else.

#gravity falls #gravity falls headcanons #stanford pines #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #old man mcgucket #fiddauthor #bill cipher #mentioned #fiddauthor headcanons #Maybe a part two? who know #I''m not a gravity falls author and have read like 2 fics so this is a learning process #pining #get it?#ahaha

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hubofhellfire · 2 months

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Talking about blogs , or the downsizing of them .

I posted a poll a bit ago inquiring about whether I transition this hub blog into a single multimuse blog . . . the response has definitely proven to be interesting ! And I wanted to take the time to talk about my thought process and where I plan on going . . . for those that care to read this essay that's about to come:

Originally , this blog was going to be a multimuse blog , featuring . . . I think at the time I had like 25 muses in mind ? At the time I got cold feet , feeling as though that would be too many muses pulling for my attention and not enough time to give them all love . . . but then I ended up making like 30 sideblogs for this hub blog , so in reality I ended up at the same destination by just taking a different path .

I started the hub blog idea off the basis of utilizing the 10 carrds that I had , as well as giving people more freedom on which muses they wanted to be exposed to while also opting to choose if they wanted to follow the main blog for my ooc ramblings . . . and while this works to a degree , I also do think it potentially confuses a lot of people . . . especially when it comes to those that have their settings geared towards interactions only being with mutuals .

I think there are merits to both formats , and while I have trauma with trying multimuse blogs in the past . . . surely the third time around would stick the landing ? Right ?

That question has led me to decide to go ahead an slowly transition this main hub blog into a single multimuse blog . . . with some caveats .

What caveats ? Let's talk about them.

@spcrklefingers already has a well established footing , with multiple writing partners attached to it and several threads being discussed . It is for these reasons it will stick as a sideblog to the main multimuse blog . No ships , threads , mains , or exclusives will be discarded ; it'll be as though it is business as per usual .

@changedfate is the newest child to the hub , so it has yet to get a real footing . . . however given the nature of it being centered around a Disney character and Disney IPs ? I think it best to keep it distanced away from the transition . . . meaning that it will also stay as its own single muse sideblog .

So which sideblogs will be condensed into the "Sacred Multimuse Blog" ?

Great question . . .

@cunningvolt , @tealsteel , @signalsearched , and @pcrplelightning will be condensed from sideblogs into the main multi . Let's go over some reasons why.

Anby's blog was going to be condensed into the ZZZ multimuse anyway , and since it makes no since to have a multimuse blog be a sideblog to another multimuse blog ? The ZZZ multimuse blog shall be condensed into the main multi blog . . . albeit with some of the roster being lost in the process .

Which members of the roster ?

Miyabi , Koleda , Nicole , Soldier 11 , Ellen Joe and Grace will all be sealed away in the Destined Vault ™️

This means that along with Anby , Zhu Yuan , and Lucy will make the transition .

Reina's blog is interesting , as I am the only Reina in the Tekken RP space . . . so giving up that branding seems like a major L , but if I am going to throw another Tekken muse on the multi . . . Reina might as well make the jump as well . Hence her sideblog will be dusted .

Ezreal's blog is great branding , but I think it's also tarnished given several missteps and bridges burnt because of said missteps . . . so consolidating him onto the multi is the way moving forward . . . he's too special to give up entirely .

The branding of this main blog (the hubofhellfire name) will stay , the only things that will change being a new carrd and new promo post to coincide with the format change . . . everything else stays the same : all previously discussed threads , ships , memes , plots , etc . all stick around . . . just moved onto a place more easily accessible to all .

I am currently in the process of making all the new assets for this transition (promo pic/post & carrd) and hope to have at least a barebones version of the carrd ready sometime next week; until that time I will continue with things as normal on sideblogs .

If you have any questions or concerns regarding this update , please do not hesitate to reach out privately and ask ! I love and appreciate each and every person that follows this blog and wouldn't be here in this space without you !

Thanks so much for taking the time to read ! ! !

Much love & Keep moving forward ,

Destined

#this was a LONG post but I hope that its concise enough!#don't hesitate to reach out with any questions or concerns!

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emptypassicn-moved · 3 months

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This blog is still on semi-hiatus (I'm finishing up with fixing a few things) as stuff has taken longer than I hoped but since it got moved to the main blog I follow from for like three of my active to semi-active blogs I'm making this post.

Edit: I may have to move this blog to a new one (due to Tumblr fucking me over with changing emails) along with all three side blogs. However, for now, any blogs I follow are likely for my side blogs (until I figure things out with this main account).

If you're a Hellaverse / Hazbin Hotel / Helluva Boss or otherwise a blog related to that then I probably followed you for my hellaverse blogs! These blogs are the following:

↦ Hazbin / Helluva Multi-Muse Side Blog : @perditicn

↦ Adam (Hazbin Hotel) Single Muse Side Blog : @leftrib

↦ AU Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) Single Muse Side Blog : @clambcke

@emptypassicn

#sᴛᴀɢᴇ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ.;; [ important ]#ᴄʜᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ. ;; [ out of character ]

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undyingghoul · 2 years

Note

Hiya can I have a Sodo x reader request where he sneaks the reader into his room at the ministry to cuddle with him (maybe he’s just being v clingy that day) but maybe the other ghouls catch them n start teasing him but they still cuddle anyway

*rubs hands together like a fly* yes. --------

Pairing: Dewdrop x GN!Reader Warnings: Swearing Title: How'd That Work For Ya

Summary: Dewdrop thought he was being sneaky enough when he snuck you into his room to cuddle. Unfortunately, he was wrong, the other Ghouls totally saw it.

“(Y/n)?” Dewdrop asked, causing you to startle and yelp. “Good Lucifer almighty-” You gasped as you looked at Dewdrop and away from your studies. “Don’t do that to me!” You hissed at him, though he knew you weren’t actually mad. “Sorry, sorry- Accident, I promise,” Dewdrop said as he fidgeted with his fingers. “What do you need, hun?” You asked gently, standing up and holding his hands. “I wanted to cuddle… I miss you,” Dewdrop mumbled and you smiled. “Of course, we can cuddle,” You cooed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Take me away.”

Dewdrop peeked his head into the hall before pulling you in and sneaking down it to his room, having to pass the main area on the way. The fire Ghoul thought he was quick enough to sneak you into his room but when you two passed the main area you were spotted by Swiss. Swiss chuckled mid-conversation with Aether and the quintessence Ghoul cocked his head to the side at it. “Little Dewdrop snuck a Sister in… Looks like the one he’s been around for the past couple of months, too,” Swiss explained to Aether and catching the attention of Rain and Mountain. “Oh, you mean (Y/n)! Yeah, they’re super nice and fun!” Rain chimed in with a wide smile. Swiss rolled his eyes a bit and stood up. “Let’s go pay them a visit, yeah?” Swiss suggested with a smirk. Aether nodded and stood up, leaving just Rain and Mountain. “Sure, I like (Y/n)!” Rain beamed and stood up. Mountain huffed and stood up as well, taking his place next to Rain.

The four Ghouls made their way to Dewdrop’s room and once arrived Swiss opened the door and leaned against the doorframe. “Aww, would you look at that! Little Dewdrop has a partner now,” He teased playfully. You and Dewdrop looked up and Dewdrop growled a bit, cursing himself for not being sneaky enough. Rain moved into the room and waved eagerly at you. “(Y/n)! Hi!” He bubbled and you smiled and waved back. “Hi, Rain!” You replied and waved to Mountain as well, getting a nod from him in response.

“Fuck off, Swiss,” Dewdrop huffed as he held you closer. “You know, I could tell Papa about this…” Swiss started, Aether resting his arm on Swiss’ shoulder and putting some weight on the multi-ghoul as he leaned on him. “Tell him what? That I have a Sibling in my room? That I love them, too? If that’s the game we’re gonna play I could easily tell on you as well, Swiss, I know you’ve got someone out there,” Dewdrop scoffed. Swiss shrugged his shoulders, brushing off that last part a bit. “Alright, fair enough, fair enough. But it’s still a wonder that you’ve got a partner!” Swiss mused. Dewdrop flipped him the bird and his tail curled around you. Swiss put a hand over his heart and faked hurt. “That hurts, Dewdrop,” He said as he pouted. “Get out you idiot,” Dewdrop rolled his eyes as the corners of his mouth just barely tugged upward.

“Let’s leave them be, Swiss, c’mon,” Rain said before slipping out of the room with Mountain following closely behind him. Swiss and Aether chuckled a bit before leaving as well, Aether having the decency to shut the door behind them.

You leaned on Dewdrop and hummed. “You’ll get a chance to get payback, don’t worry Dewy,” You reassured him as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. Dewdrop nuzzled into you and nodded. “I will definitely get my payback on them. I’ll make sure to give you every single detail,” He said. “But for now, let’s cuddle some more.”

#dewdrop x reader #nameless ghoul dewdrop #dewdrop ghoul #the band ghost #ghost band

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coffeehighallthetime-blog · 1 year

Text

I am Kind not Complacent Chpt 5

Hello! Here is Chpt 5! warnings: some mention of overstimulation and comfort through panic attack.

Chpt 5: 3K

{Prev}-{next}

Heimdall x fem!reader (they're both kids rn)

multi chapter

hope you enjoy it! and thank you to @engardeitsme as usualllll love you buddy, thank you for your support!

thank you to @lunaryasha, @nokolla as well for reading!💜💜💜

A/N: also sorry for the typos it's very late lol

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Is there a single thought going on in your head?”

Heimdall had asked the question at least three times now and the girl was starting to lose her patience, twiddling her thumbs as Heimdall glared at her. The discomfort of letting the boy try to have free range of her mind made her uncomfortable, no matter how many times they had done it now. And his lack of empathy, taking her time, running through her head, only to blame her? He really was a weasel.

“Certainly,” she spoke stiffly, breathing through her nose. “I’m just not focusing on any particular thought. Which is the point of the exercise in case you forgot.” She watched as his eyes squinted and snorted, poking at his furrowed brows.” also, I don’t think you’re supposed to make it this obvious that you are running through people’s heads.” Heimdall’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he batted the girl’s hand away.

“I’m working on it, ok?” He muttered, trying to relax his features as he continued to pick through her thoughts. It was a jumbled mess of things, like muttering getting louder and quieter, with just a few words popping out at him. He could tell she was getting frustrated with him, an angry rumbling in the undertow of her musings. Nothing to give him coherent information. It didn’t help that anything he was able to grab onto was interrupted by the thoughts of people all the way on the other side of the lodge. One moment, he could hear Yn’s thoughts start to get louder, and the next it was some trivial rubbish of a maid doing chores, or the fighters sparing outside, horses in the stable, or his damn brother, Thor, snoring. Heimdall growled and threw his head back, rubbing his temples with his palms.

“It’s still too loud!” the girl sighed at this, pulling a leg up to her chest while the other dangled over her chair.

“We’ve already moved three times, Weasel. I think this is as quiet as it’s going to get for us.”

“I know, which is why I feel even more pissed off!” he bolted from his seat, pacing around the room. “We’ve been at this for weeks and all I can hear is gibberish and your surface-level musings! It’s ridiculous. Do you have ‘any’ thoughts in that walnut you call a brain?!” the girl frowned, turning her head away. In the thoughts that thrummed threw her into Heimdall's ears he only heard: ‘...I…..Heimdall……idiot….’

“Excuse me?” he frowned, turning to her. She looked at him confused.

“What?”

“All I heard was my name and the word idiot!” the girl raised a brow, knowing she had more to her thought. She was tired of being treated like an idiot. Still, she decided to smirk and held her hands up in defeat.

“Well look at that, it seems I do have some thoughts in this walnut.” she snorted as the boy crossed his arms, trying to hear more insults.

“Also, I don't know if it’s occurred to you,” she leaned back in her chair, “ but I’m not enjoying you clumsily poking around my head either for weeks on end. So forgive me for trying to keep some things private.”

They indeed had been meeting for weeks now, after supper in Heimdall’s room. Only to migrate through different parts of the lodge when it got too loud for him to concentrate. The first few lessons had gone well, but the two thought this was merely due to Yn concentrating on a single thought for Heimdall to listen to. This obviously would not be the case when he had to find out information from people against their will, so the girl suggested they move on to Heimdall trying to read her free-roaming thoughts. This proved to be much more difficult and only seemed to get worse the more he strained to listen, instead being overflowed with noises and thoughts far from where they were. The girl also didn’t enjoy the next level of mind reading, flushing when Heimdall would point out thoughts she didn’t even know she had. It was all very invasive.

“We are getting nowhere,” Heimdall growled under his breath, flopping back into his chair across from the girl. He sighed and looked up at her, arms crossed. “Why is it that I can hear you perfectly fine sometimes and the next, there is nothing but mumbling?” the girl relaxed her shoulders, sensing the boy’s frustration.

“Well,” she started, her hands folding over her raised leg, “I want to try to hide things in those moments. I don’t like having you up here,” she pointed to the space between her brows, “but if I focus on what I want you to hear, you seem to have an easier time with it.” Heimdall sighed, rubbing his face in frustration.

“I need to be able to look at everything no matter if you want it hidden or not.” The girl frowned, not liking the idea of the boy with that kind of power. She sighed, however, remembering their agreement.

“Do you think you may be siking yourself out?” he just looked at her, a confused pull at his brows. She continued, standing up to pace as she spoke, “What I mean is, when it’s based on instinct like the first time we fought, or when you could hear me on the wall…it was like a survival instinct. You knew automatically what to do.”

“I guess,” he frowned, crossing his arms, “but it’s not completely quiet, it’s just a mess. Like thousands of people talking over each other. And I can’t tell what’s your thoughts, other’s thoughts, or outside actions. But when I concentrate I get closer to honing in on just your sounds.” the girl nodded in agreement, a hand on her chin as she stopped in front of the window, the afternoon breeze flowing through and the sunset light shining over the horizon, covered by the wall. She hummed as she got an idea, and because it was louder than the rest, Heimdall could catch wind of some of it. “What about the wall?” He asked, looking at her over the back of his chair. She smiled and turned to him, and his face fell as he heard the rest of the plan racing through his head.

“Oh, no. No no no. we are not going back out there. The All-Father is already suspicious.”

“We’ll go in the dead of night!” she said with an excited smile, getting closer to him.

“You’re crazy!”

“Does anything come out of your mouth except insults?” she huffed, hands on her hips.

“ For you?” he asked with a sarcastic smirk, “Never.” she ignored the boy, grabbing her things.

“It’ll be an experiment.”

“I’m not an experiment.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He huffed. Though he couldn’t hear what she was thinking, he could tell her thoughts were running a mile a minute. And he didn’t like her tone.

“I’m not going.” he stood firm, and though he didn’t show it on his face, Yn had started to be able to tell when he was growing anxious. And right now, he stunk of nerves. The girl sighed, slowing her movements, and faced Heimdall.

“Fine then. We don’t have to go,” she reassured him and felt the tension ease slightly. She smiled, “We’ll stop for today.”

He hated her ability to ease him. And that no matter how much he tried to control his emotions, he couldn’t resist the calm she gave him. He knew it was from her powers, and it terrified him. He should not be able to be so easily influenced. He reasoned to himself, that he was building a tolerance to her powers, and soon it wouldn’t work on him. She was just a stepping stone. That’s all this was.

With a wave of her hand, she was out of the room, spouting about how he could knock when he couldn’t sleep before shutting the door. Like he would ever in a million years, go crawling-

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There Heimdall stood. Ridged in front of Yn’s door. Cold sweat beaded at his temple, and he held in sobs, biting his lip till it threatened to bleed. His hands gripped at the bottom of his shirt and he trembled in front of the girl’s door. He hated it. Hated waking up to the sound of phantoms in his head, endless mumblings rattling through his mind like an echoing hall. He hated not being able to quiet them, the power they had over him. He hated the fear that seeped into his bones from the sounds in his head, and the consequences of being caught for being unable to deal with them on his own.

But most of all, he hated that what he had found was finally able to quiet his mind was snoring softly on the other side of the door in front of him, without a care in the world. That he was supposed to be learning information on this girl, and nothing more. He was the god of foresight. A gift bestowed on him. And he was using this girl, a stranger, a possible enemy, to calm himself. And she let him. It all made his stomach twist in ways he didn’t know were possible.

Still, despite how he wanted to run back to his room. Simply will the sounds to stop. To be able to understand the girl’s intentions and report them to the All-Father so she could finally be out of his hair. Despite all of it:

There he stood, trembling, willing his voice to whimper just a bit quieter. She left the door unlocked. She had started doing so so he wouldn’t have to knock and make extra noise. Her kindness frustrated him. He had never experienced anything like it before. He thought it must have meant she wanted something from him, and he would die before he gave it to her.

Heimdall’s fist wrapped around the door handle, and he swallowed as he twisted, pushing the door open. Yn stirred, waking to the sound of her door opening. She rubbed her eyes and watched as the boy slowly walked in, shutting the door as quietly as possible behind him before collapsing to the floor, letting his sobs rasp out of him, biting his arm to stay quiet. Without a second thought, Yn’s voice filled the room with soft music, and she quickly got out of bed, her little feet padding over with a blanket in tow, falling to her knees in front of him and pulling his head to rest against hers.

He hated how his chest already felt lighter. How warm she felt against his cold sweaty head. How she paid no mind to his heaving and trembling, ignoring what he knew she thought was a pathetic display. No matter how many times she would reassure him, he told himself he knew she looked down on him. It felt disgusting. And over everything else, he hated that she made him feel at peace.

They stayed like that, a crumpled mess on the floor, as Yn’s voice thrummed through Heimdall’s chest and calmed his heartbeat, quieted his sobs, and ceased his trembling. Her hands rested on his shoulders, and when she felt them start to still, she pulled away, the song still chiming from her mind into his. She took the boy's hands, easing him to stand, and brought him to her bed.

“Here, sit down, okay?” She sat on the bed, her back against the wall, and pulled him to the spot next to her. He was too weak to protest, leaning his head back against the wall once he was sat, and just took in the song and silence. No matter how many times he came to the girl’s room, the relief he felt was still overwhelming in its own way. They stayed like that for a while, just like they do every night he came to her room. Sometimes she would read, her voice soothing him back to sleep. Sometimes she talked about what she learned with Mimir, not expecting any answer as Heimdall let her silly little thoughts be the only mumbling he could hear. But for some reason, tonight, as she spoke just above a whisper for him, trailing off about her home and how she would crawl up into the trees to sleep there when she had a nightmare, he responded.

“Why did you crawl into the trees?” He asked, his voice raspy for strangling down his tears. He felt Yn stiffen for a moment, then shift to look at him. He didn’t look back, leaving her to sit in his question for a moment before she smiled, looking away from him again.

“Because I was afraid of getting eaten. Do you know what a drekki is?” Heimdall barely nodded, peering to look at her.

“Big lizard… lots of teeth…”

“Well,” she started, “I had this nightmare all the time, of a drekki swallowing me up while I slept, and staying alive in its belly.”

“That’s disgusting” Heimdall’s nose crinkled, feeling a shiver go down his spine. The girl giggled and nodded in agreement.

“I know. So I would sleep in the trees and tell myself an aching back was better than living in a drekki. Even here, I still get nightmares sometimes, and I want to sleep on the roof!” she smiled sheepishly, and Heimdall felt a small lopsided smirk pull at the side of his cheek despite his best efforts. Perhaps worst of all, he found himself caring less and less. Letting himself continue to ask questions, and even started to answer some of hers.

“Why do you not tell anyone about this?” She spoke softly, turning to look at him.

“Because I’m a god,” He didn’t hesitate at the question, answering as though it were simply a fact of life. “I am the Scion of the Aesir, given the gift of foresight by the All-Father.” a look of pride shined in his pink eyes, but it soon left as he looked at the clock ticking on Yn’s bedside table. “... If I cannot handle this gift,... I am unworthy. I am a failure.” he turned to look at the girl desperately. “ no one can know. You especially. You make me weak.”

“Resting is not weakness.” Heimdall frowned, shaking his head at her.

“I’m meant to be a soldier.”

“You’re a kid, Heimdall. We both are.”

He snorted, turning away from her.

“You don’t get it.” he mumbled, “you don’t have a home to protect, or a family to make proud.”

There was silence, the music had stopped, and Heimdall heard the rising speed and weight of the girl’s heart pounding against her ribs. He turned to her again, seeing her face contort, her breathing got uneven and she curled a bit into herself. Despite this, however, she turned at Heimdall, a sad smile tugging at her cheeks.

“That was pretty messed up, Weasel.” her voice cracked slightly, and she turned to look away, stifling a sniffle and whipping a tear from under her eye. Heimdall felt an ache twist in his chest. He felt guilty, without her powers to influence her.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke without thinking. She scoffed.

“No, it’s fine. But so were are both clear, I did have a home, and a family” Her voice grew cold and it made the boy want to shiver like she breathed ice in his face. “I watched it all burn to the ground.” her voice didn’t waver, but her hands shook. “And then I picked up the pieces and made myself something I could live with. Now I’m here. Away from everything I know and no one in Vanaheim will even mourn me. Because everyone who knew me is dead.” her voice rattled like dice at the end, and she stifled a sob, turning away from him.

“ I didn’t-” his voice was faster than his thoughts, “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I was just-” he tripped over his tongue, “ I didn’t mean to hurt you, I am sorry.” his own voice was weak and he was unsure why, “ I just-” he breathed out, “I hate it.”

She turned to look at him, tears silently trickling down her face. It was only fair he comforted her in return. That’s what he told himself as he dabbed them away with his sleeve.

“You hate what?” she asked in a cracked whisper, not pulling away from him. He swallowed before admitting for the first time both aloud and to himself:

“I hate the weight of it…I wish I was alone…I wish,” his voice trailed off. And though he didn’t finish his thought, Yn somehow knew what he meant, and sighed, sniffling quietly. He swallowed, looking down at his knees, “I didn’t know that’s what happened…”

“ No, you don’t…” she mumbled, shaking her head. “ because being alone for years is not worth the peace of solitude. I promise it’s not.” she glared at him weakly, “and maybe you should have read a little deeper before trying to use my past as ammunition.” Heimdall frowned, placing a careful hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“I really am sorry…” He spoke, fully aware of his words this time. Yn sniffled and looked at him for a moment before she smiled, weakly.

“I’ll think about accepting it. You sound honest enough.” she teased and he couldn’t stop his smile. “Hey,” she nudged him, “you’re being nice. Without me.” she shrugged, “Sort of.” he chuckled slightly and nodded.

“ I guess I want to be a little bit nicer to you…” he shrugged back, “sort of.”

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